All stones, a conglomeration 

of illusion and desire.

All dawns, pre-set to rise and fall 

breathe and grow

and yet…

all are followed by a drowning sun.

Not a stone story or tellers myth.

For souls so bound in greed and gold.

My house is as opium dreams…

in these whispers of life.

No movement, in still darkling corners

where life and dust move so slowly that

luxing shadows, low and subdued, can

hold a spirit in sleeping deeps.

So dance this ring of fire

without question,

for being must flow

in these meriel seas

and shaded rivers.

Apocalypse and creation

my coin.

You my currency. 

Your hair is made 

of flowers and death,

your breath mud baked

yet star sparkle sweet.

Your compassion always

greater than your parts.

So dance your dance

on life’s highest mountain,

in low dead seas.

No choice, no chance.

All else illusion’s flattery.

©️ Dai Fry 9th May 2020.